


His Body Betrays Him

by LaurieRoar



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Hot, Kinda, M/M, Male Slash, Rough Sex, Throat Fucking, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1460356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurieRoar/pseuds/LaurieRoar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What do you want?” John threw at him, capping his emotions as best as he could. He wasn’t sure why he’d even come over here. Mary had told him he didn’t have to. She’d implied she’d wanted him to go, but she’d said he didn’t have to. He could’ve just ignored Sherlock’s texts. Baker Street? Can we talk? He should’ve known this would do no good.</p><p>Cue angsty, smutty-ness. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Body Betrays Him

**Author's Note:**

> Someone commented on my last fic saying that I am The Gay Sex Batman. I would like to officially claim this title. ;)

John stood in the doorway. Sherlock sat on the couch, his arms crossed, watching John with a blank expression. How he could sit there so calmly given the situation was out of John’s comprehension, sit there while John’s eyes were filling with tears despite his attempts at holding them in.

Sherlock swallowed - a subtle sign of his discomfort that only John would notice. John felt a pang of sentiment at that, knowing that he could still read his old flatmate better than anyone else. But before it could get the best of him, he angrily compressed it. How dare Sherlock have this control over him, this quality that made him an exception to every norm society had in place. How dare he just have to look at John with his icy blue eyes to make John want to burst out laughing, give him a big hug and move back into Baker Street so everything could carry on as usual, the last two years forgotten like he’d just awoken from a terrible dream.

“What do you want?” John threw at him, capping his emotions as best as he could. He wasn’t sure why he’d even come over here. Mary had told him he didn’t have to. She’d implied she’d wanted him to go, but she’d said he didn’t have to. He could’ve just ignored Sherlock’s texts. _Baker Street? Can we talk?_ He should’ve known this would do no good.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably and looked down. He was hurt at John’s tone. “I …” His eyes darted up at John. He sighed.

John glared at him. “What?” It was a demand disguised as a question.

Sherlock’s eyes met John’s again. He looked miserable. _Good,_ John thought. _Serves him right. He can feel unhappy for two minutes. He should try two fucking years._

“I missed you.” Sherlock said finally.

John nodded, glaring. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.” He spat. “Except the difference is … I thought you were never coming back.” He sighed furiously. “But I’m really glad you missed me too, Sherlock. Really glad that while I was mourning the loss of my best friend, searching for comfort in whoever would talk to me, left completely alone in a world you and me both know I don’t fit into, you _missed_ me.”

“John - ”

“No. No, you listen to me now.” He stepped forward threateningly, right beside his old chair, but he refused to let it look welcoming. “Where … do you get off … thinking that you can just … _do_ things like this? Thinking you can just play off the emotions of the people who love you without consequence? Without caring? Without even considering what the hell you’re putting them through? Does it just not matter to you at all? Do I not matter to you? Did I ever?”

Sherlock opened his mouth.

“No, don’t answer that. Because I know exactly what you’re going to say. You’re a sociopath. Caring is not an advantage, right? Caring isn’t going to help you save lives. Caring about me wouldn’t have helped you in defeating Moriarty’s network or whatever the fuck you were doing while I was here by myself, laying in bed all day hoping that I’d hear you walk through the door, feeling the absolute most _miserable_ I have ever felt in my life.” He tried to catch his breath, but it stayed heavy and forced. “You know, there was a time when I thought that maybe you weren’t a sociopath. I thought maybe you just said that to get people to leave you alone, or as an excuse so you didn’t have to show your emotions. I could’ve sworn I'd seen the slightest glimmer of a human being hidden in there, but now I can see I was wrong. You’re a bloody robot. A fucking sociopath.”

Sherlock was looking at the ground. If John didn’t know any better, he’d say he was ashamed. But John did know better. Any emotions Sherlock had were just imitations, impressions, an attempt at portraying himself as human when everyone knew Sherlock was everything but.

John shook his head. His voice lowered. “How could you? Just answer me that, Sherlock. After … everything. How could you do this to me?”

Sherlock looked up at John. His lips were pressed together, his dark curls falling on his face like he was trying to hide behind them. “I had to.”

John shook his head. “No. No, you didn’t. You could have told me. If a bunch of bloody fucking tramps can keep a goddamn secret, your best friend could to. You have no fucking excuse.” He took in a breath, trying to calm the rage in his stomach. He didn’t want to physically hurt him again. That wasn’t right. “You have no excuses, Sherlock. I’ve changed my mind since yesterday. I don’t want to know why you did it. I want to know how. I want to know _how_ you could just leave me behind like I never mattered. How could a human being do that?”

Sherlock swallowed. “With … extreme … difficulty.”

“Or you're just not human.” John glared at him. His entire body was shaking. Anger and sadness and confusion were overwhelming him. But the conflicting feeling, the one that was telling him to run to Sherlock and embrace him, tell him everything was okay and he didn’t have to look at him with such sadness in his eyes, was what threatened to push John over the edge. He stepped forward longingly and sat in his chair, letting out a meditative exhale. “Sherlock,” he said.

“John.” Sherlock was sitting up, leaning forward, his hand reaching out to touch John’s knee. John looked over at him, shaking his head.

“No. We are not doing this.” He said automatically.

Sherlock retreated a little bit, but only for a moment. Then he was suddenly setting on the floor between John’s legs, his shoulders against his thighs. “I’m sorry.” He said, voice quiet, eyes wide and desperate. John should've known this is what Sherlock wanted.

“I’m engaged, Sherlock. No.” He said firmly. “You should’ve thought about this before you left.” And now he just wanted to hurt him. He wanted him to feel everything that he’d made John feel and more. “You’ve lost your chance. Good luck finding someone else that’ll want you now, Sherlock.”

He pushed Sherlock’s face away from him, unable to look at him anymore. But Sherlock came right back, closer this time. His hands dropped to John’s knees, and he leaned forward, his face settling in John’s crotch. He mouthed at the fabric there, kissing and licking. John could feel himself growing there despite his fury. How beautiful it would be if he didn’t get hard for Sherlock. How beautiful Sherlock’s face would look, all hurt and confused as John pushed him away, got up from his chair and left, slamming the door behind him without as much as a glance behind him to see if he was okay. A bit like Sherlock had done to him. Maybe John wouldn’t even talk to him for another two goddamn years. Maybe he’d never talk to him again.

But his body was betraying him for the second time that evening. “No, Sherlock.” He said again, his face falling into his hand. _Mary …_

Sherlock pulled back. Always a gentleman. Make sure to get him turned on and wanting it before responding to his plea to stop. Make sure you know he’s going to pull you back in with desire when you pull away.

John shook his head, his eyes hidden behind his palm. “No.”

It felt like Sherlock shrunk. Rejection. He took in a shaky inhale. When John looked at him, he had tears in his eyes.

_Tears in his eyes?_

John rolled his own eyes, trying to stifle the need to comfort him. Sherlock looked down at his hands. John sighed. “What?” He asked gently.

“You’re all I have.”

“Yeah. You’re all I had, too, Sherlock.” John said, shaking his head. _Don’t you dare empathize, John. Don’t you dare._

Sherlock nodded. And he knew. He knew exactly what he’d done and he even seemed to feel bad for it. And John could not care less.

Sherlock’s hand was on his crotch again, desperately seeking contact, desperate to replace the feeling of sadness with one of love. John let him. Sherlock undid his pants and reached inside them pulling out John’s half-hard erection. He stroked it gently with his hand, his breathing speeding up, until John was completely hard from his touch. John’s hand fell to Sherlock’s face, fingertips tracing across his eyebrow, down over his sharp cheekbones, dropping to his perfect, full lips, feeling how wet and pliant they were. His pushed two of his fingers passed his lips to rub along the soft, wet velvet of his tongue. He felt the rise of his tastebuds, and the bigger bumps at the back of his tongue. So familiar. Sherlock closed his eyes, his hand gripping John’s cock in a fist and rubbing it up and down swiftly. John mimicked his movements with his fingers, thrusting them along his tongue, pushing into the back of his throat. He grabbed the hair on the back of his head and tilted his face up, adding another finger. John’s breathing was heavy now as he fucked Sherlock’s mouth with his hand, his cock dripping pre-come onto Sherlock’s trembling fingers.

Sherlock gagged.

_Mary._

John pulled his hands back, resting them on either side of his chair. Reality sunk in. He was cheating on his fiancé with … Sherlock. His old friend who’d faked his own goddamn death and left him in misery for years just to come back expecting everything to go back to normal. And look at John? Letting it happen. Letting it go back to innocent not-gay blow jobs in his arm chair. Fighting crimes. Next would be living together, sleeping in the same bed sometimes, waking up sticky with sweat and come to Mrs. Hudson’s tea and biscuits in their living room. “No. I’m engaged.” He said. “And you’re a fucking sociopath.”

Sherlock took his hand away, shrinking again. John couldn’t bare to look at him for fear of seeing something he’d want. His own hand made its way to his erection as if it had a mind of its own. He stroked himself. _Shouldn’t be doing this, John. What could possibly come from this?_ He could hear Sherlock’s breath change from shaky half-sobs to aroused gasps. No. He could not do this. Not to Mary. Not to himself.

He opened his eyes. And just like he’d been afraid of, he wanted what he saw. Sherlock’s dark curls fell around his face. His eyes were narrowed with lust, fixed on John’s erection, his mouth open, his cheeks flushed. He leaned towards John cautiously, eyes darting back and forth between the length of his dick and John’s weary face. He hovered over his prick, his lips moving closer and closer to the crown, watching John’s hand moving up and down his shaft. He daringly licked a bead of pre-come off the tip, taking in a shaky inhale and swallowing it down, eyes moving up to John’s.

John’s other hand moved to brush the curls off of Sherlock’s face. Sherlock leaned into the touch like a house cat starved of attention, moving closer between John’s legs. John could feel his exhales hot against his cock and it was driving him crazy. He leaned forward. The tip of his prick hit Sherlock’s lips, making them both gasp. He rubbed it against those lips, feeling their wetness, little shivers of pleasure going up and down his spine with the contact.

Sherlock opened his mouth. The tip of John’s cock slipped inside without warning and touched the smooth, wetness of his tongue. Sherlock let out a shaky breath. He closed his mouth and gently sucked on John, eyes opening up to look at him, his eyebrows furrowing with desire. John stroked himself with just the tip of his prick inside Sherlock. “You missed this, didn’t you?”

Sherlock nodded around his prick.

John pushed his cock forward. He let out a low moan, feeling Sherlock’s jaw fall open and his tongue press up against the bottom of his dick. He grabbed onto Sherlock’s hair and pulled him forward until he hit the back of his throat, and held him there. “Yeah. I remember how much you love having my dick in your throat.”

Sherlock let out a choked moan in response.

John leaned back. “Move.’ He said. Sherlock inhaled shakily, then started sucking, moving his mouth up and down John’s shaft, taking his crown deep into the back of his throat. He let out little gag noises and sucking noises and moans, breathing heavily. John let him suck his dick like that for a long time, just watching him, how his eyes gazed up at him then flickered closed. Spit dripped from his mouth and down onto John’s balls. It accumulated there, covering him in the foamy wet, dripping down his perineum and onto his chair. _Sherlock’s chair,_ he corrected himself. He moaned every time he hit the back of Sherlock’s throat. The pleasure was building. Sherlock was palming his own erection, one hand on his crotch and the other on John’s knee, his head bobbing back and forth, lips closed around his girth.

And then it wasn’t enough. John needed more. He grabbed either side of Sherlock’s face and pulled him forward until his cock was all the way inside. Sherlock gagged but John ignored it. He started thrusting deep into his throat. Sherlock’s mouth fell open and spit rolled down his chin. The wet, squelching sound of his throat being fucked hit John’s ears and made the heat in his stomach build up so fast it almost hurt. Sherlock’s eyes were open, looking up at John, filled with trust and love and desire, tears leaking through them as he let out choked sounds and gasped for air whenever he could. When it was too much, he grabbed John’s hands and pulled away, taking in a big gasp of air and moaning. A string of saliva connected John’s prick to his mouth. It drooped down then broke, falling onto Sherlock’s chin and dripping down onto his shirt.

The front of Sherlock’s shirt was covered in spit, just like his neck and chin. John massaged his dick against the spit on his chin, breathing heavily. He rubbed it into Sherlock’s skin. He grabbed him by the throat and pressed his prick against his cheek. Sherlock closed his eyes as John traced along his cheekbone with his prick, leaving a glistening streak of saliva and pre-come behind him.

Sherlock swallowed, eyes opening and gazing up at John needfully, face pink and wet and willing. John grabbed Sherlock by his hair and pushed him down to his balls, moaning when Sherlock took them into his mouth, sucking on them gently. He stroked his cock hard and fast. Sherlock’s blue eyes looked up at him and his hand sped up on his own erection. His curls were soft in John’s hand. He tugged on them, guiding Sherlock’s mouth around his balls, then back up his cock, watching his tongue lick a stripe up his shaft. He held onto his hair. Sherlock watched his hand running up and down his prick in awe. And if that wasn’t the hottest thing John had ever seen, he didn’t know what was.

Sherlock moaned when John pushed back into his throat. John moaned with him, fucking into him again, feeling the pleasure build, focusing on the sweet feel of Sherlock’s tongue on his prick. “Open your mouth.” Sherlock’s mouth fell open again, pulling back quickly to take in a breath before taking John’s cock back into his throat. John looked down at his open mouth, his glazed eyes and his pink cheeks. “Fuck.” He pulled Sherlock all the way forward, pressing his dick deep into the back of his mouth until he felt Sherlock’s lips against his balls, and then he was coming, squirting a stream of come down Sherlock’s throat. He moaned with the pleasure, what felt like two years of sexual frustration easing out of his body in one big, long orgasm. He let go of Sherlock and felt him pull back, gasping for breath but keeping John in his mouth. John felt Sherlock’s tongue lap against his crown and then his throat contract as he swallowed everything down, his breathing hard and shaky.

John pulled out as he came down from his orgasm, eyes tightly shut. Satisfaction flooded his body, hormones causing a fluttering feeling in his stomach. Happiness.

But that didn’t last long.

_Mary._

He opened his eyes. Sherlock was looking up at him. Some of John’s come was dripping down his chin, joining the spit. His hand lifted up to wipe it off. He stared at the white on his fingers, then brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, a devious look in his eyes.

John felt his eyes fill up. He couldn’t tell if it was because of Mary or because of Sherlock. He could so easily just forget everything right now, maybe send Mary a text saying he couldn’t be with her anymore, then dive down and make love to Sherlock right there, hard but sweet, whispering in his ear how much he missed him and loved him, threatening him with whatever he could think of to make sure he never left him again.

_No, John._

John glared at Sherlock. First he leaves him, then he makes him cheat on his future wife. Sherlock was just out to ruin him.

Sherlock looked up at him, the arousal in his eyes fading once he saw John’s expression. It was replaced by the one John had seen when he’d walked in the doorway. Sadness. Regret. Rejection.

“I’m engaged.” John said. “This … this can’t happen again.”

Sherlock’s eyes filled up.

“If you wanted this … you shouldn’t have left, Sherlock.” John pushed him away and stood up, stuffing his junk back into his pants and wiping his hands on his thighs. He kicked a path in the mess of Sherlock’s apartment to the door.

He was about to leave when he heard Sherlock’s voice behind him, small and wavering. Hopeful. “John.”

He was crying. And now so was John. He shook his head. He’d cried way too many tears over this man. He was so sick of Sherlock ruling his life. “I’ve moved on, Sherlock.” He said, trying to keep his voice as flat as possible. “Just do me a favour … fuck off.” And he walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind him in an act of finality.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are like crack to me. Comments and Kudos. But mostly comments. *hint hint*


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